Ever Present Voices
by Military Mechanic
Summary: He hears them, every time that he closes his eyes. The screaming, the howling, the cries for help and vengenance and for others to suffer. There is no one to protect him now. Just those voices, that echo constantly in Ryou's mind. Crying for him to take action, threatening him if he refuses, and they are always there. So he doesn't sleep and slowly, very slowly, he breaks.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yep, have a multi-chapter story from me. No clue who I'm going to pair Ryou with yet, so let me know what you all want!

* * *

Listen.

Closely now.

Lean in further.

Let the sound envelop you.

Let it carry you away, deeper into the smooth darkness.

You can hear it, can't you?

The sound of screaming. Everytime you close your eyes. Or maybe you can't.

No.

Of course you can't.

Only Ryou can hear those screams, echoing through the night. Every time that he closes his eyes, they are there. Right there. Trying to get the young boy's attention.

Fight it.

That's what he should do.

But he can't.

Not any more.

Not now, that they're gone. Bakura. Akefia. The yami. The spirit. Taken from him - and for what?

For others, always for others, forever for others.

Everything that happens to Ryou, it's for others.

Never him.

So the screams? They always continue.

Long into the night.

With nothing there to keep them at bay.

Ryou doesn't know how much longer he can stand it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Ahahaha, no one is ever going to read this because the chapter's are too short. I just don't care.

* * *

It's silent.

Too silent.

Every light in the house is on, but there is no noise. No television or radio. No branches scraping against a window. No bird-song from outside or drip of a leaking faucet.

Just silence.

Complete silence.

Ryou sits on the couch with his feet pulled up to his chest. A soft, white blanket is strewn over his shoulders, standing stark against his black pajamas but blending in with his hair. It is warm and adds a little bit of comfort to the bleak night.

A little bit.

Not much.

Never much.

There's too much silence.

The young boy's eyes wrinkle, mouth opening wide in a yawn. Panic laces through his chest when he cannot fight it back, and then he's shrugging the blanket off. His night shirt follows, both hitting the floor and landing in a pile.

Cold air hits Ryou's skin and he shudders, fighting off the urge to wrap his arms around himself. The cold is good, after all. It helps keep him awake.

Tonight? He needs all the help that he can get.

"I'm not tired." he tells himself, but his voice is weak and soft. So he says it again, stronger this time.

"I'm not tired."

Still too soft. Ryou doesn't believe himself. The urge to sleep fills his mind and exhaustion laces through his veins.

He tried again.

"I'm not tired."

Louder this time, and a hand comes up, curling into the soft locks of hair that lays across one shoulder. Fingers twine around the white strands and then he's pulling, pain pricking across his scalp at the action.

"I'm not tired."

But he is.

Ryou is so tired that it is no longer funny. Every fiber of his being aches for rest, but he doesn't want to give in. Not so soon after the last time, when slumber finally took him - and, oh God, even thinking about it sends his stomach twisting.

The feeling of nausea, at least, keeps him awake for a while longer.


	3. Chapter 3

__A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews. Then, I want to let you all know that I'm still open for suggestions when it comes to pairings. :D

* * *

_"Help us," plead the voices, all hoarse and low and terrifying. Threatening like nothing else that Ryou has ever heard before, except that he hears these same words every time his eyes close._

_Are his eyes closed? _

_Maybe. Maybe not._

_He doesn't know. Just like he doesn't know who is talking or where he is. Just that it's dark, so dark, completely dark. Dark enough that, in his mind, a different word should be used to describe the chasm that he suddenly finds himself in._

_Black is better, because that is the only color that Ryou can see._

_Just black._

_"Help us get free." hisses another voice, and this time it's right in the young boy's ear - only, in that moment, he feels very old instead of his meager sixteen years. _

_Or maybe he isn't sixteen any more, but sixty. Six hundred. Six thousand. Numbers fill his mind, and with them come years and memories that aren't his._

Houses burning; bright flames licking at a black sky.

People screaming; loud and pained and ever-present.

Pain everywhere; lacing through his limbs, his heart, his very mind.

_Ryou cannot tell if those visions are real or not. If they are his or not. If that hand resting heavily on his shoulder, even though it's all bones and blood and grizzly looking tendons, if that is actually there or just false._

_Last time, it was all bones after all, so maybe, maybe, the rest is fake._

_That doesn't stop him from screaming and running. Trying too, at least._

_Ryou finds very quickly that his feet are rooted to the not-there-floor. Words stolen and voice gone, perhaps given to the creatures haunting him._

_All of a sudden, the voices raise into a loud crescendo of noise. They are no longers whispers and hisses, but screams for help and vengenace and death - and when did he start crying? _

_Ryou doesn't know. _

_Just knows that the tears running down his face are red, red, red._

_That the hand on his shoulder is digging, digging, digging in._

_Then he knows nothing, nothing, nothing but those voices._


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So, here's the next part! I'm hoping for more reviews, because they truly make my day! :D

* * *

When Ryou wakes up, there are hot tears running down his face and loose strands of white hair wrapped around his fingers. His whole being aches - mental, physical, emotional, and he stumbles to his feet almost mechanicaly.

Around him, the house seems both too large and too small at the same time. Like it's trying to come crashing down on him but there are too many forces holding it up.

The feeling scares him.

Terrifies him.

Petrifies him.

So he leaves, just like he does every time that he falls asleep. Still clad in his pajama bottoms and nothing more, he stumbles towards his front door. Doesn't bother to lock it when he leaves, just slips out into the cold fall night.

The concrete is like ice to his bare feet, wind wrapping around him and twisting, tangleing his hair even further than his hands had done earlier. There are no lights on his street but that doesn't really matter, because this path is so well worn into the young man's mind at this point that he doesn't need them.

He just walks on autopilot.

Arms wrap around his bare chest and his head tilts downwards, knotted white hair forming a curtain in front of his face.

It is cold, but he doesn't care. Barely even registers that fact. Just registers the horrid screams that still echo in his mind, as though the blood and ash covered figures are still there, begging him for retribution.

There is nothing he can do about it, so he keeps walking. The same path after every nightmare. Going as far away from his house as he can until he just cannot walk any further, legs giving out beneath him and frozen body hitting the harsh pavement.

Skin might tear, it might not. Ryou doesn't know.

It might hurt, it might not. Ryou cannot tell.

He should get up, that much he knows.

Ryou doesn't.


End file.
